


we have the stars

by forochel



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - The History Boys, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, narry preslash, unrequited harry/louis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-26
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2018-02-10 12:48:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2025693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of scenes from a History Boys AU. The boys spend one last term studying for the Oxbridge entrance exams, and coming to terms with change.</p>
            </blockquote>





	we have the stars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unconscious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unconscious/gifts).



> Disclaimer: All characters contained herein are fictional representations of the real media personalities. Please do not link/show the following story to any of the people represented below. If you are/know any of the people represented below, please press the back button now. 
> 
> As with any History Boys-related fic, there're a couple of literary/historical/pop cultural (possibly, I forget) references in here. Obvs I don't make any pretensions to being as erudite as Bennett himself, but have done my best to stay true to the tone without shoehorning quotes/references in. Caveat lector: I make some references to scenes from the movie/play that aren't written out in the story below. It should be okay, though? 
> 
> Deepest thanks to [K](http://archiveofourown.org/users/unconscious) for being the impetus, cheerleader, and beta-reader for this little bit of self-indulgent nonsense.

Harry waited on his bike outside the church, humming idly to himself, tapping his fingers against the handle bars along to the beat: _trip-rat-tat, trip-rat-tat_. The little church door, set within the massive wooden ones that only opened on special occasions, creaked open and Harry looked up as Niall came slipping out. An air of serene stillness lingered about him.

"You haven't been waiting long, have you?" Niall asked, swinging his leg over his bike.

Harry shrugged. "I always forget how long you take saying all your Hail Marys."

Niall barked out a laugh, that stillness dispersing as they pedalled off. "Fuck off, you heathen."

They rode along in companionable silence for a while, down the high street and the wending way home.

Niall broke it after a while. "What do you think of that new fellow Cowell's got in, then?"

"Winston?" Harry shrugged a shoulder. "Seems clever. Seems what Cowell thinks we need for Oxbridge."

"Young and exciting," Niall said in a way that suggested quotes. He continued carefully. "Louis’s intrigued."

Harry gave him a sidelong look, before fixing his gaze firmly ahead. "I suppose that's the end to the Siege of Eleanor, then?"

"Oh, no," said Niall, his tone as deliberately light as Harry's. "He still going for the Trojan Horse gambit, I think. Fancies himself Odysseus."

Harry snorted. "He should be so lucky."

"That's the thing, though, isn’t it?" Niall said thoughtfully. "Louis does tend to be."

"I can't imagine what the Trojan Horse would be in this context," said Harry. "I’m not sure I want to know."

Niall braked hard to a stop outside his house. "Well," he said, grinning at Harry. "I'll let you know anyway. "

"Have mercy, Horan," Harry said wryly, and waved as he pedalled off to the end of the lane.

*

Niall was halfway through revising the Reformation when Louis came whistling down the lane. He could hear the piercing sound of it from yards away, and so was sufficiently prepared by the time Louis had charmed his mum and thudded his way up the stairs and into Niall's tiny room.

It used to be even tinier, by pure dint of having two occupants, but Greg had gone back to the old country to help their uncle out on the farm in County Westmeath.

"I draw ever closer," Louis declared, falling onto Niall's bed in a rush of limbs and burst of floral perfume. "The horse lies before the gates."

Niall snorted, shaking his head, and kept his head bent to his books. Out of the corner of his eye, Louis was grinning like the cat that got the cream, eyes creased up with satisfaction.

"Not if she legs it like Aeneas," Niall said.

"She's the city, man," said Louis. " _And_ she let me touch her tits today."

"Is that why you smell like the florist's?" Niall enquired, giving up on Edward VI.

"Just thought you might appreciate it, Niall." Louis batted his eyelashes.

"Ha," said Niall. "I've got a garden, thanks. Though foxes got in yesterday, or something."

"Foxes?" Louis asked sharply, clothes rustling as he sat up. "Or those idiots from school?"

Niall shrugged, not quite daring to meet Louis's eyes. "Could be either. Mum's not too happy about her rhododendrons, to be honest with you."

Louis cursed. "Payno and I could round up a few lads...see about teaching them a lesson."

"Oh, leave it," Niall said wearily. "You'd never get into Oxford if you were found beating up wee schoolboys."

"Well, they're unlikely to ever make it into Sixth Form anyway," said Louis. "You'll just have to come back a judge or something while they're still all working in the pub."

Niall shrugged. "That's the plan." He turned back to his books. "And if you haven't got anything more to say about Eleanor. .."

Louis laughed, before bouncing up off the bed, the springs protesting. "Left my books at home, lend me your notes?"

"Lazy," Niall accused, but threw him the volume on the Republicans anyway.

"Cheers," said Louis, and they settled down to their studying.

*

"Who the hell does he think he is?" Louis raged in the changing room. The essay Winston had tossed carelessly onto Louis's table with the pronouncement of outstanding dullness flapped haplessly in Louis’s clenched fist. His cheekbones looked even sharper than usual, his blue eyes glinting dangerously. " _Dull_? I'll bloody show him dull!"

Niall watched in amusement, leant against a locker, arms folded across his chest. Fluttering about Louis was Liam -- an odd word to use, perhaps, but that was Liam: a walking contradiction in terms. Built like a rugby player, behaved like a puppy.

"He _is_ an Oxford man," Zayn observed from where he was safely sat on a bench all the way on the other end of the room. "He must know what he's on about. At least a little."

"Bah!" Louis threw his hands up in the air. "Et tu, Malik?" Wheeling on his heel, Louis stalked towards Niall and stopped in front of Harry, who'd been sitting quietly next to Niall all the while. There was a glint in Louis's eye as he loomed over Harry and asked, "Well, _you_ agree with _me_ , don't you, Stylesy?"

Niall gave Louis a reproving look; everyone'd known about Harry's unfortunate crush on Louis since Easter of Year Nine, but Louis persisted in treating it alternately as some sort of private joke or with bafflement. 

"Be nicer to Stylesy," he'd told Louis once — Louis had snorted and continued trying to score off the crossbar. Falling over onto his back a while later, Louis had said in between gasping breaths, "I'm being cruel to be kind, Nialler. Can't help it if he's such a stubborn sod." 

And so here they were now, Niall supposed. Louis smirking down at Harry, Harry blinking rapidly up at Louis and going pink, and everyone waiting for someone else to say something. 

"I - I think he's got a point actually, Winston does," Harry said at last, measuring his words out. "We _have_ learnt off all the material by heart the way it's meant to be written. No offence to Caddy, we've all got our As, but ... Oxbridge's different, I suppose. We've got to be different. Outrageous. I suppose."

"Yeah, but, the foreskins of Jesus?" Liam interrupted incredulously before Louis could say anything too cutting.

"Exciting stuff, I thought," said Niall, pushing himself upright. "Come on lads, I was promised a game of footie."

*

Louis stretched out sinuously, then let his arms fall with a great sigh and crack of his neck. His hair was plastered to his skull, recently shorn of the half-mullet he'd sported till shortly after results day. Vaughan's almost had a fit, shouting in angry French till Louis had capitulated about getting it cut. 

"Today's the day, gentleman, I can feel it," he said, ruffling his hair till it looked roguishly tousled. Harry looked away, up at the ceiling in mute supplication.

He looked back down when Niall nudged him in the side, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth and said in an undertone, "Thought you didn't believe in him."

"He's probably one of the few things I believe in, sadly," Harry murmured bleakly.

Niall furrowed his brows. "What — oh." He rolled his eyes, which was oddly comforting. "No, I meant Him. Up There. The Almighty, et cetera." 

"I'm the Allied Forces and she's Normandy," Louis was saying grandly. "And I'm going to be making my landing. The stars are right."

"It's almost enough to make me want to believe," Harry said quietly to Niall. "Almost." 

"Godless scum," Niall replied lightly. "You're better off going to UCL, then." 

"Sod off," muttered Harry. 

"Didn't know the stars were the decisive factor in the D-day landings, mate," said Zayn. 

Louis let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Winston'd like that, I bet," he said derisively. "First class material, he'd say. Anyway, I'm off. See you Monday, lads!"

Liam followed him out, bag swinging behind him, but Zayn hesitated, hand on the door. Looking back, he asked, "All right, Haz?" 

"What?" asked Harry, feeling bad immediately. "Yeah, of course. Why?" 

Zayn frowned. "Well, you know. Louis's a bit of a cunt, sometimes. But all right, then. I've got to pick the sisters up from piano and whatnot. Take care, mate!"

The door swung shut behind him.

"And then there were two," Niall intoned, and pretended to try and strangle Harry.

"Fuck _off_ ," Harry laughed, batting at him.

Niall sat back, looking satisfied. "There we go, no more gloomy Styles. You sure you're all right?"

"I've got used to it, to be honest." Harry shrugged. "I mean, I _have_ been in the same form as Louis for the last age or so. He isn't exactly shy about his conquests."

"He loves 'em and leaves 'em all, to be fair," said Niall. "So you know. You ought to form a club, really. Eleanor and you can be the founding members. Est. 1983."

"I hardly _think_ so," said Harry. "But that's part of the attraction, I suppose. And ... well, everything. But oh, the pain, the _pain_." 

Niall pat him on the back awkwardly. "There, there," said Niall unconvincingly — so unconvincingly that Harry laughed again. 

"I'm going to revise in the library," Harry said, standing up. "Starting in on the Stuarts. See if I can't find anything contrary to write about." 

"Of course you are," said Niall. "I'll come along. You're a good influence, Styles."

"Always," said Harry solemnly, and drew his bag strap over his head.

*

Winston had, through some strange magic, managed to wrangle enough money out of Cowell to bring them all to London for a visit — it was to be a whirlwind tour of history both political and architectural at Westminster Abbey and the Houses of Parliament, a dash of art history at the National Gallery nearby, and a new play in the West End. They all took pleasure in jumping on the gravestones of hated poets in the Abbey, in a place where Vaughan can’t hit them with the folded up copy of the Guardian under his arm. Niall kept a sharp eye out for Cromwell. 

“He was Catholic, you know,” Niall said, nodding towards St Edward the Confessor’s tomb in front of the High Altar. 

“Oh, come off it. They all were then,” Louis said in an undertone. And then, “poor old sod.” 

“Wrong king,” Niall whispered with a wicked grin, and moved quickly off before Louis could react. 

A quick picnic lunch Vaughan had packed and brought with him on the dreadfully early train down that morning; an hour to loll around on the grass and cadge fags off Caddy, who was remarkably reluctant to share even outside of school grounds.

“Oh, have a heart, Miss Watson,” Zayn was saying soulfully. 

“I do have one,” Caddy said tartly. “That’s why I’m preventing you, Malik, from taking up this terrible habit.” 

Niall threw some grass at Zayn. “Leave it be, Zayn, you had one before the train this morning.”

“Yes, but that was _hours_ ago!” 

“Oh, all right,” Caddy relented.

“Oh! Can I have one too then, Miss Watson?” Louis, the opportunistic bastard, turned up the charm.

“No, you share with Malik, Tomlinson. Cigarettes don’t grow on trees.” 

Winston, Niall noticed, was watching this all with a bemused air. Harry was sitting close to him — hoping to get more cleverness by breathing the same air as Winston, probably, Niall thought. 

“All right, chop chop!” Winston said at last, getting up and dusting grass off his jeans. And what a revelation that had been, a schoolmaster in denims.

“Trying to be one of the lads, eh,” Louis had muttered to Niall on the train, but he’d had that intent gleam in his eye. 

“I see through you, you know,” Niall had informed him. Louis’d huffed and slipped his headphones on, blocking him out with his walkman. 

The Houses of Parliament were grand, and they’d got to sit in on a public session. Winston’d looked particularly proud of getting them in there; Vaughan’d coughed and said, “Oh, politics,” before wandering off elsewhere. 

By the time the session let out, Niall was bored out of his mind and fidgety from sitting down for hours. He found himself walking next to Harry as they filed out of the galleries and into the draughty corridors.

“Wasn’t that interesting?” Harry turned to him and asked. He looked flushed, and his eyes were bright.

Niall, not for the first time, found himself caught between lying to and disappointing Harry. “Bits of it were,” he allowed. “But then they started talking about legislation.” 

Harry peered at him, before laughing and shaking his head. “You needn’t lie to me to make me feel better, Niall.”

“No? Well, all right then. Looking forward to the play tonight?” 

“Oh, yes! I looked it up in the papers; it looks wicked.” 

“I don’t even know what it’s called,” Niall laughed. 

“Pack of Lies! Cold War stuff.”

“Ah, relevance.” Zayn came up alongside them and sighed mock-dreamily. “The perfect marriage of both Winston and Vaughan’s lessons.” 

“ _I’m_ mostly interested in the ladies of Soho, to be honest with you,” Louis interjected. “That’s where our digs tonight are, isn’t it?” 

“The ladies of Soho?” asked Harry. “What about Eleanor?”

“Eleanor! _Lay your sleeping head, my love_ —”

“ _Human on my faithless arm_ ,” Harry finished. “But — really?”

“It isn’t as though we’re in a _relationship_.” Sneering, Louis peeled off away into the bright yard beyond the cool dark Saxon arches that formed the tourist entrance to the Houses of Parliament.

“I’m not sure how to feel about that,” Harry observed. “Poor El.” 

Niall laughed, and slung an arm around Harry. “Oh, Haz, you and your spaniel heart.” 

*

The chair was especially hard today, and a curl was tickling at his nose. Harry willed down the sneeze frantically, but the tickling grew ever more insistent, even as the expectant gaze of the three interviewers grew ever more intense. 

“Well, Mr. Styles?” asked Miss Watson. “Your interests?”

The silence was heavy with expectation. The rest of the class were sat on chairs and tables shoved to the sides of the classroom; all except the tables between Harry and his torturers and the chairs they were sitting on.

“Um,” Harry managed. “I’m quite fond of literature.” 

“Oh, yes?” Winston affected a look of interest. “Why have you applied to read History, then?”

Harry stared at him, stunned, gaping like a fish.

Vaughan remained silent, but there was a twisted look to his face. 

“That ... um ... history informs literature? Our understanding of the text, in any case,” said Harry, warming to his case. “And you could say, perhaps, that history is but another form of literature. It’s how you tell the story, isn’t it? And that’s ... that’s why I’ve applied to read History at your college. Sir.” 

A few of the boys whooped, and there was a smattering of applause. He tried and failed to hide a smile, sat back in the chair, heart thumping away beneath his breastbone. He hadn’t even realised that he’d leaned forward while spinning out that argument. 

“Decent attempt at a save, Styles,” Winston said, smiling wryly. “But that should serve as a warning: prepare, prepare, prepare! Next: Payne.” 

Harry gratefully lurched out of the chair and collapsed onto a table, next to Niall. 

“Well done!” Niall said softly, bumping a fist against Harry’s shoulder.

“I’m shit at this,” Harry groaned, scrubbing his hand over his face. “Ow!” He rubbed his arm where Niall had punched him proper. 

“You were brilliant, mate, so shut up.”

“I thought I was going to vomit on them. Honestly, I almost did that when I asked the bakery if they had a job for me. I don’t know how I’m going to survive this.” 

In the centre of the room, Liam’d just got whacked over the head by a gleeful Zayn. He looked injured, and remonstrated, “It’s true, though, miss. History’s just causes and effect, innit? One fucking thing after another! I’m not clever or — or interested like Stylesy, but if they want me it’ll be for me, not because I’ve said things about Stalin being actually a sweetie or talked about Owen and Sassoon were lovers.” 

“Poor old Payno,” muttered Niall, as their teachers looked at Liam with pity. “Oh, look, Caddy’s standing up.” 

They sat in embarrassed silence as Miss Watson embarked on an impassioned declamation, eyes flashing and hands slashing through the air. It was probably the first time in four years they’d seen her display this much unrestrained emotion. Harry almost wished she’d taught like this.

“History!” Miss Watson concluded. “Is women following behind ... with a bucket!” 

She walked back to her seat and sat, folding her hands in her lap. Eyes fixed on the panel, Harry saw Winston open his mouth, then think better of it and and shut it. 

“Probably was gonna say something about using that in an essay,” Niall muttered. There was a wry tilt to his mouth when Harry looked over at him. “No worries there, I’d say.”

“Well then, Mr Payne,” said Miss Watson, calm once again. “Tell us, why do you want to come to this college?” 

*

“This is madness,” Niall told the room solemnly. “What the fuck are we doing? Us working class lads, going up for Oxbridge?” 

“Shut up, Horan,” Louis said tensely, poring over essay notes crumpled in his hands. 

Niall cackled, feeling mad. He felt like he was going to burst out of his skin, like there might be electricity coming out from the ends of his fingers. He edged over to Harry and tried rubbing them against Harry’s curls, to see if they’d stand. 

“Get _away_ , Niall,” Harry complained, ducking away. He’d been sitting cross-legged on a bench, eyes closed. Meditating, like.

Heaving a sigh, Niall went to the door that closed them off from the examination hall and knocked his forehead against it.

Just then, the door swung open, and Niall stumbled over the threshold into Eleanor.

“Whoops!” Niall said brightly. “Sorry, Eleanor!”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “You may now enter,” she told the room.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Zayn muttered fervently, stuffing his notes back into his battered old bag. “Oh, fuck. I’m going to throw up.”

A faint smile drifted across Harry’s lips. “That’ll be me later.”

“No one’s bloody throwing up,” said Niall as sternly as he could. “We’re all going to be fucking brilliant at this, all right?”

There was a generally dispirited murmur. Niall sighed. 

“Well, good luck, lads,” Liam said. The lines between his brows were carving themselves deeper. Niall restrained himself from reaching up and trying to smooth them out. It wouldn’t be appreciated, and Liam’s nerves were palpable. 

They were all standing now, crowded around the door and waiting for something. Years of hard work and feeling like they had to get out of this town; now they were standing on the precipice of change and none of them wanted to move. 

“Well, come on, boys!” Vaughan exclaimed, appearing in the doorway. “In you go, hup hup!”

“No gobbets for us, sir?” Louis asked.

Vaughan examined them all narrowly, then smiled and shook his head. “ _God be wi’ you, princes all_.”

Niall watched Harry frown and say, “Are the odds so fearful for us then, sir?” 

“Of course not, Stylesy,” Niall told him. “Let’s just fucking go, come on! _We few, we happy few, we band of brothers; For he to-day that sheds his blood with me Shall be my brother_ —”

“Very good, Mr Horan,” Vaughan said, twinkling. “Though let us hope it does not come to bloodshed, eh?”

Niall strode over the threshold into the hall, and was immediately engulfed in the preternatural silence of a room on the cusp of a major exam. There was no noise but the sound of chairs and trainers squeaking against the floor, and the ticking of the large clock on a trestle table up on the stage. 

He placed his arms, folded, on the table. Oh, bloody hell — it was wobbly, one of the legs shorter than the rest. He ripped a piece of paper in half, wincing at the loud tearing noise it made, and folded it up to wedge under the leg. When he sat back upright, Caddy was looking at him with a raised eyebrow from where she stood on the stage. Niall gave her a sheepish smile and looked around the room apologetically. 

No one was looking at him: Zayn had his head bowed and eyes closed, Louis was looking up at the ceiling and his lips were moving wordlessly, Liam was staring straight ahead at the back of Louis’s head, and Harry — Harry looked almost serene. He had his legs folded up onto the chair with him. Niall snorted and shook his head. Mad, all of them. 

“You may begin!” Caddy announced imperiously, and Niall let out a deep breath, sending up a quick prayer before turning the exam paper over. 

Next to him, Liam uttered a low, “Shit,” and then Niall tuned everyone out. 

 

* 

With a loud pop, Cowell uncorked the bottle and champagne frothed out over its sides. A great cheer rose up from all around the room. 

“Well done, boys!” Cowell exclaimed, a rare smile on his face. “Scholarships for Styles and Malik, and places all around!” 

Another cheer went up, and then the bubbly started going around.

“Can you believe it?” Harry waved his hands around, barely caring about the champagne spilling over onto his hand. He’d been feeling like he was walking on air ever since that afternoon he’d opened the letter from Oriel, Gemma and his mum crowding in over his shoulder. Bubbly as the champagne Cowell’d popped open.

“No!” Zayn laughed, and then hugged him impulsively.

Surprised, Harry held briefly still before hugging Zayn back. It was a casual generosity rarely shown to him, and he’d miss Zayn when they went off to different universities. He said as much, feeling free and hopeful.

“Aw, mate,” said Zayn, smiling bashfully. “You’ll write though, won’t you?”

“Yes, and I suppose we’ll have to visit.”

“And there’s always summer here, yeah?”

Harry grimaced. “Yeah, but I don’t feel ... I don’t want to come back here, really.”

“But what about your family?”

There was that, but Harry didn’t know how to — couldn’t, really, verbalise his fear of being stuck in this small town. Being trapped with nowhere to go.

“Why the long face, Stylesy? Hugs all around!” Louis announced, swinging into the corner that Zayn and Harry were stood in. “Here’s your prize.”

“What —” Harry started, but then Louis was pulling him into a hug. He’d barely had the time to savour having Louis’s arms around him, or the press of Louis’s chest against him, before Louis was pulling away with a ruffle of his hair. 

“Is that _it_?” 

Louis blinked at him, long lashes over painfully blue eyes. “What?” 

Indignantly, Harry repeated himself: “Is _that_ it?”

Over Louis’s shoulder, Niall caught his eye and started up a loud and involved conversation with Cowell, pulling Liam into it. 

“I mean,” said Harry. “What sort of prize is that, really? More of a _palliative_ , and a poor one at that. I’m not so — so _craven_ I need a — a hug from you as a prize? There’s no need to _patronise_ me!” 

Caught out, Louis stared, speechless. It only incensed Harry further. He rattled on, “You were just thinking, oh, poor, pathetic Stylesy, a hug after all this while should do it, weren’t you? Well I’m telling you it’s not enough, nothing could ever be enough, _you’re_ not fucking enough!”

“Boys, _boys_ ,” Vaughan interrupted, before Louis could gather himself enough to — say something destructive, no doubt. Harry’d half braced himself for it, already. “What is all this?” Winston was standing next to him, looking awkward and hands half-raised. Harry wanted to snort, to ask him — ask any of them what they thought they could do.

Louis was blinking rapidly, before his face hardened, the familiar, sharp planes of it getting sharper. “A learning experience, sir,” he said lightly. “I think Stylesy’s finding some kinship with the poetry.”

It cut, of course it did. The pain was exquisite for a short, sharp moment, and then it was gone, leaving only a tired ache in its wake. 

“I’d punch you,” he told Louis, ignoring the masters in the background, the fact that Cowell had finally managed to escape Niall and was heading towards them. “If I weren’t a pacifist.”

“You’re welcome to it,” Louis sneered. “If you thought it’d help.”

Harry did nearly hit Louis then, but then Liam and Niall appeared, Liam pulling Louis away, Niall putting a cautionary hand on Harry’s shoulder. 

“Are you all right, Styles?” Winston asked, worriedly. 

His small confessional in the classroom with Winston flashed briefly through his mind, as did the advice Winston had given him. Shrugging, Harry said, “This too shall pass.”

Winston acknowledged it with a wry smile, before turning away to chat with Zayn.

“You sure you all right, Harry?” Niall shook him lightly. 

Harry started making his way towards the door. “Yeah, sure, why not?” He put the champagne flute down on the table as he passed it.

“That was ...” Niall trailed off. “Unlike you.”

Harry laughed; he sounded wild even to his ears. “We’re going off to uni, Nialler! New beginnings. Who’s to say what’s _like_ me?” 

Niall followed him out into the corridor and along the length of it, before turning and pushing Harry lightly back against a bank of lockers. “Hey.” 

Harry sagged back against it, blowing out a breath. “Let it _be_ , Niall. It’s over. I’m ... I’m done, I think. It’ll be fine.”

He suffered Niall’s scrutiny for as long as he could take it, before kicking at Niall’s feet.

“All right,” said Niall doubtfully. “If you say so. But Haz, I do think Louis was trying to be kind.”

“I don’t need his kindness,” Harry snapped, pushing away and starting for the exit again.

“All right, all right.” Niall hurried after him, before stopping abruptly. “Oh, shit, I’ve still got this glass. Fuck, wait for me while I go put it back, will you?” 

Harry glanced back at him and made a quick decision. “No, stay there. I’ve got a shift at the bakery anyway.”

There was a pause, Niall’s face unreadable, before it creased up into a smile. “Yeah, okay. Bring me a pie, yeah?”

“I’ll drop one just for you,” Harry promised. He had a long walk to the bakery ahead of him. It would help clear his head.

*

It’d just stopped raining and there was a autumnal briskness to the air. Niall smelled the scent of fresh rain mixing with the loamy scent of earth rising from the grass as he exited the chapel, pulling his coat in around him. He felt solemn, the quiet chill of the church having settled itself heavier over him than usual. That, or the tangled knot of loss and grief and the sheer, inexplicable magnitude of what had happened was turning out to be less easy to put aside. 

He smiled up through the mist at the lanky figure propped up against a bike at rest. How much longer would they be able to keep this tradition up, till it was away to university and different colleges and social circles? An uncharacteristic twinge of melancholy made his nose sour; they’d already lost one integral part of their lives here at home — how much more was just going to fade away? 

“All right?” Harry asked quietly when Niall drew close, as though he could sense the mood weighing down on Niall. 

Niall shrugged. 

“Yeah,” sighed Harry.

They walked their bicycles down the path slowly.

“Bet Louis’s devastated,” Niall said carefully. It’d been a fortnight from The Scene, as he was calling it in his head. 

Harry glanced at him. “Oh?”

“Well, you know, Winston’s been in hospital. Chances missed, all that.” 

“Oh.” Harry didn’t look as though he knew about what Louis’d offered Winston, but Niall wasn’t in a hurry to enlighten him. “Well,” Harry shrugged. “He’ll get over it.” 

“Yes,” said Niall. “Hey, how’re you getting your bike to Oxford?” 

“Putting it on the car,” Harry said nonchalantly.

“You have _not_ got a car!” 

Harry raised a shoulder, sheepish. “Mum’s new boyfriend. He’s well posh.” 

“Ooooh,” Niall teased. “Soon to be too good for the likes of me, then?”

“Fuck off!” Harry laughed, finally, and elbowed him. “We could put your bike on the car as well, actually.”

Niall raised his eyebrows. “Oh, the bike, is it? What about me?” 

His chest felt lighter as he watched Harry hum and pretend to think about it. “I don’t know, don’t think there’ll be space for you, mate. I’ll have to have a think about it.”

Rolling his eyes, Niall got onto his bike and gestured for Harry to do the same. “Well, don’t take too long. I’ve got train tickets to buy.” 

Harry flipped his hair out of his eyes and grinned at him, before pedalled off, singing, “ _I think I’m gonna be sad, I think it’s today, yeah! The girl that’s driving me mad, is going away_.”

Laughing, Niall took after him, joining in, in joyous counterpoint. 

“ _Oh! She’s got a ticket to ride, she’s got a ticket to ri-i-ide, she’s got a ticket to ride, but she don’t care!_ ”


End file.
